The Serpent and the Swot
by ThornedHuntress
Summary: Hermione Granger works in one of the finest houses in England, her life quiet and ordinary, as she likes is. All that changes, however, when pirates land at Gryffindor Hall. AU, Lucius/Hermione
1. Pirates, Prudes, and a Paragon

**A/N: This story was written for The Maple Bookshelf's "It's all been done...Passionately" February challenge. The challenge was to write a story that embodies one of the tropes so commonly found in romance novels. It is, therefore, highly AU, full of heaving bosoms and bodice ripping, and somewhat lacking in any level of historical accuracy. So enjoy! ** **HUGE thanks goes out to TycheSong for being the greatest rockstar of an alpha for this story ever!** **Disclaimer: As per usual, none of the things you may recognize from the Potter universe belong to me, I'm just playing with them. **

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Hermione Granger walked quickly along the pathway, eager for the ocean breezes that could offer respite from the stifling June heat. The summer air had reached the level of unbearably uncomfortable some three weeks earlier and showed no signs of abating.

All the windows in the manor house in which Hermione resided had been thrown open to encourage a breeze, but that had been the only concession made by the household to the sweltering heat. Lady Augusta Longbottom, the dowager whom employed Hermione as a lady's companion, was a dear woman but rather old-fashioned and would not tolerate such frivolities as shedding their heavy panniers in her home.

Thus it had served as a great source of relief for Hermione when the pressing warmth of the day encouraged the elderly lady to retire to her rooms for a rest instead of pursuing her usual activities. The lady's rest in turn offered several hours of respite for Hermione, hours she intended to use to their fullest enjoying the cooler climes of the oceanfront and the novel she had purchased from the newest bookseller in Ipswich.

It wasn't long before the white, sandy beach came into view over the crest of a small hill, the gentle slope a welcome change from the steep cliffs Hermione had known as a child in Kent. A pang entered her chest as memories of a cheerful childhood spent with parents she would never again see flitted through her mind. It had been sheer happenstance that she had been away at school in Scotland when the Lord Mayor of Dover had died under her father's care.

He had been a brilliant doctor, and her mother an excellent assistant, but accidents were still known to occur. This accident, however, had resulted in her dear father being accused of manslaughter and her mother of aiding the crime and the both of them had been sentenced to exile in the farthest reaches of the British Empire, Australia. If not for the education her parents had insisted she receive, Hermione likely would have been at home as was proper of a young lady and been banished along with them.

At times she wished she had been, but those thoughts were always accompanied by a wash of guilt. Her parents had loved her dearly, they would be proud to see how far she had brought herself without the aid of a man, something her unconventional parents had always advised.

Shaking away the morose thoughts, Hermione took an appreciative sniff of the salty air to clear her head before shedding her slippers and her stockings and burying her toes in the warm sand. With a sigh of deep contentment, she sank to the ground, opened her book, and immersed herself in a world entirely foreign to her own.

Nearly an hour had passed as nearest she could estimate before Hermione was roused from her story, though it was not by choice. The sun had climbed higher in the sky and despite her missing panniers and only a lone petticoat; the breeze was not enough to keep sweat from dripping down her neck.

Wiping a bead of sweat from her brow, she cast a longing glance at the waves crashing against the sand, dreaming of years gone by when she had spent much of her summers playing in the waves. The wonderfully cool, utterly delightful waves. But it wasn't appropriate for a lady to enjoy the sea outside the appropriate venue, the possibility was far too great that a man might see too much of a trim figure or the turn of an ankle. But the idea was oh-so-tempting…

She stared, almost as if she were hypnotized at the waves crashing over and over again against the shore and then shifted her eyes to a considering examination of her surroundings. The beach was sheltered by the deep curve of a cove and located in the middle of the estate attached to Gryffindor Hall, where it was certain no one would dare to trespass. The beach was shielded from the view of the rest of the estate by a hill and all in all truly was a delightfully private spot to pass the time.

Upon gathering these observations, the woman on said beach made a rather rash decision, something she was not usually wont to do. She unbuttoned as many of the buttons down the back of her gown as she could reach and slipped it from her shoulders, allowing it to pool at her feet, her petticoat and her corset soon to join it. She stepped from the billow of clothing and arranged it as neatly as she could before removing the cap shielding her from the sun and laying it atop the pile.

Left standing only in her shift and feeling suddenly exposed, Hermione rushed for the relative safety of the water, letting out a small shriek at the sudden shock of the cool water and then sinking nearly up to her neck in relief. She paddled about for a time and then turned to float on her back, enjoying the paradox of the warm sun above her and the cool water beneath. She couldn't say how long she floated like that, lulled by the rocking of the waves into a state near sleep, but she was suddenly returned to awareness by the distant sound of a shout.

She bolted upright, quickly scanning the shore for any sign that she was going to be discovered in her current state of dishabille but saw no one. It wasn't until an answering shout sounded, this one seeming even closer, that she turned to take in the scene behind her. Where there had been none before, the masts of a ship now towered at the entrance to the cove. Hermione blinked once, then twice, wondering if she were dreaming, but the image stayed, and her eyes focused further.

There, at the base of the ship, bobbed a smaller boat, the kind she had seen sailors use to come ashore in town. There were two men in the boat and they were undoubtedly rowing in her direction. Hermione wasn't certain exactly as to why there was a strange ship making every appearance of intending to come ashore on Longbottom land, but she most definitely was not going to allow them to spot her practically in her all-together. Nor, however, was she simply going to leave and allow them to continue on with their nefarious business unimpeded.

Instead, she swam quickly for shore as inconspicuously as she could, dashing for her clothes and dragging them behind the nearest dune as quickly as she could. She crouched there, frozen and watching with bated breath as they rowed closer and closer, until the boat landed with a dull thud against the sand. The two rough-looking men clambered from the boat, near enough now that she could hear their conversation.

"Yer sure no one's ever here?" The short, rotund one asked. "I coulda sworn I saw someone scampering 'cross the beach."

His companion, whose long, skinny face and hooked nose reminded her of a looming vulture, scowled. "Don't be a dunderhead, there's no one for miles. The captain wants to unload here, we'll be unloading here. Get to it."

Hermione's eyes widened as the stout man frowned, muttering something unintelligible beneath his breath as he turned back to the boat and hoisted a large crate out. Hermione's eyes widened with a silent gasp as she made out the words printed on the side. _East India Company_. The men still bickering amongst themselves on the beach were most certainly not agents of that estimable trade, which could only mean one thing.

_Pirates_. Pirates had made landfall at Gryffindor Hall!

No sooner had Hermione come to this realization than her mind started to race, frantically searching for a way to escape without notice and warn the authorities. She had only just decided that her most probably option was to simply wait for them to turn their backs and become occupied with their cargo before making a break for it. Neither of the men looked as if they were terribly fit runners, so she surmised she might have a chance.

Suddenly, before she could even think of moving, a large gust of wind blew up, and Hermione watched in horror as her mob cap flipped up off the pile of clothing and tumbled end over end over the dune and straight into the line of vision of the men. Her desperate lunge to grab the offending item was futile and she knew the moment the men recognized her error, as one of them let out a shout.

Without heed for subtlety, as that effort would now be wasted, Hermione bolted to her feet and broke into a run up the hill. She heard the pounding of footsteps behind her, but it was obvious they were slower and wouldn't catch her.

"Stop, you little bitch!" One of the men called out, only inciting her to hasten faster. "Stop or I'll shoot!"

Hermione stopped abruptly, nearly stumbling to the ground. Mentally castigating herself for being so stupid, of _course_ pirates would have guns, Hermione slowly raised her hands in a gesture of peace, praying they wouldn't pull the trigger simply out of spite.

"Get yer arse back down here," growled the short man, though he wasn't the one brandished a large blunderbuss in her direction.

Hermione shuffled her feet down the sandy slope as slowly as she could manage, her mind racing frantically to formulate a plan for escape while trying to fight back the overwhelming tide of fear that threatened to swamp her any moment. She drew in a deep breath as she drew closer, struggling to keep calm in the face of the muzzle staring unwaveringly in her direction. She was drawing to a stop just outside of arm's reach of the men when one of them lunged.

She let out a squeak that was a mixture of fear and pain when the taller man snatched her arm, twisting it behind her back and jamming the gun uncomfortably between her shoulder blades. She whimpered, the fear suddenly taking over as the man she could still see sneered coldly.

"What're you doing here," he demanded. "Did ya think ye were going to ruin all the captain's fine plans and just go on yer merry way to let the whole county know?"

"I…I didn't—" Hermione started to try to explain, hating the way her voice quavered when the tall man's grip tightened, almost certainly leaving bruises on her pale skin." I didn't mean to—"

"Shut up," the man holding her snapped. "She's already seen too much, Wormtail, you know what has to be done."

As if to emphasize his words, he jammed the gun harder against her back, sending a lance of pain through her being, accompanied by crushing fear. She was going to die, going to die alone on a beach and no one would ever know what happened to her. Poor Lady Longbottom would be so worried and no one else would remember to feed the kittens in the stables…

The round man, Wormtail's face fell, his expression crestfallen as he mourned, "But look at the tart, I was hoping we might have some fun with the lovely little strumpet 'fore we get rid of her."

Hermione bristled at that and his accompanying leer despite her current circumstances and in the same moment an idea came to her. Infusing as much effrontery as she could into her voice and adopting her best imitation of a haughty stare, she spat, "Excuse me, sir. I am by no means a strumpet, a trollop, or any other vile thing you should wish to name me. I am a lady, a peer, and you should address me as such. My name is Lady Hermione Longbottom, and you will use it. And if you do not free me immediately, the wrath of the very Crown will land upon you!"

The man holding her captive snorted in disbelief but the other's expression grew dubious.

"I dunno, what if she's right…I don't want to hang for a stupid bint."

Her captor snarled, pushing her away but keeping a tight hold on her arm and placing the gun to her temple. "If you're too spineless to take care of it, Wormtail, I will."

Hermione's entire body trembled violently, but she refused to make a sound. She was going to die, of that much she was certain, but she was going to be brave, she wasn't going to plead or cry. The click of a safety being drawn back echoed terrifyingly close to her ear and she tensed, clenching her eyes shut and praying that it would at least be quick and painless.

Instead, however, of the loud, echoing shot she expected, she heard another voice, this one unfamiliar and commanding demanding, "Stop, you idiots! Didn't anyone every teach you to heed the words of a lady?"

Hermione's eyes flicked open in surprise as she felt the gun pull from her temple and her gaze landed on her savior who stood only feet away. He strode toward her, his long legs swallowing the space between them in a few strides and bowed before her with a gallant sweep.

"My apologies, my lady. I'm afraid these louts have no manners, but they are decent labor. Please, Severus, release the lady."

The tall man sputtered, indignation lacing his tone as he asked, "Captain, surely you can't believe this woman—"

"Release her, Severus, and then leave us, both of you." The tall blond man's tone was pleasant enough but the expression in his cloudy grey eyes was anything but.

The shorter man scurried away without protest but the tall man took his time, staring boldly into his captain's face as he released his hold on Hermione, not walking away until the captain's features had hardened into a dark, unmoving mask. He continued to stare after the man as he made his way to one of the now two boats moored on the beach and Hermione wasn't entirely sure he remembered her presence.

She was at first tempted to run, but as that had nearly ended badly the first time she had tried it, she wasn't willing to try her luck again. Instead, she cleared her throat, as politely as she could manage of course, and drew his attention back to her.

"I'm sorry, sir," she rushed, "but I was wondering if you might…if you might be willing to let me go. I swear I won't tell anyone, no one would believe me anyhow and—"

Her voice trailed away as a smirk spread across his handsome face and one silvery blond brow arched.

"I'm afraid that won't be possible, my dear. You will be coming with us, and you won't put up a fuss, because if you do I shall have no trouble with tossing you back to Wormtail and his group of miscreants."

Hermione blanched and he continued. "And in your current state of dress, I can't imagine you would last long."

Her ashen skin flooded with the red of embarrassment as she allowed herself a quick glance downward and realized exactly how exposed she was to the world. The captain's smirk widened as he slowly let his eyes drift down her body and then back to her maroon face.

"If you would please, madam," he practically purred as he gestured to the remaining boat.

Hermione frowned, wanting to argue but unsure whether or not this deceptively charming man would tolerate such a thing.

"May I at least get my clothes first, please? Before you insist on kidnapping me?" She slapped a hand over her mouth, her eyes wide with shock at the impertinence of her statement and fearful of his reaction.

His eyes narrowed slightly, flicking to the mob cap that still lay on the ground and then back to survey her person.

"No," he finally stated, his tone decisive and tinged with barely discernible laughter. "No, I don't think you may. Into the boat, Lady Longbottom."

Hermione glared at the spiteful, horrible man and turned with as much dignity as she could muster, flouncing toward the boat. He followed her and offered a hand to help her step into the boat, a hand that she promptly ignored, much preferring to clamber into the boat on her own to accepting help from the odious pirate. Hermione sat primly with her back to the captain and the short ride back to the ship passed in total silence, though she thought she might have heard the occasional chuckle emanating from his person.

Before long the ship was looming above them and Hermione was staring in disbelief at her captor who was holding a rickety rope ladder and insisting she climb it.

"No!" She insisted. "I couldn't possibly do that, you would see–"

She flushed and pressed her lips shut in lieu of explaining exactly what he would see should her shift be flapping in the wind above him. She wanted to slap the smirk from his face, would have had he been any other than a looting, kidnapping pirate.

Much to her surprise however, he nodded instead of making a lewd comment and said, "Very well, I'll go first then. But mark my words, if you try to run, you will be caught, and Wormtail will be waiting." With that, he turned and scampered up the ladder like a monkey she had seen at a fair in Ipswich once.

She gulped and took a deep, steadying breath as she took in the ladder and the men lining the ship's rail waiting for her at the top. It really was just so very _tall_. She had never enjoyed heights; life was much safer nearer to the ground. Taking a deep breath for fortification and steeling her shoulders determinedly, she placed one foot on the first rung and began to climb.

What seemed like ages later, she reached the railing of the ship and this time accepted the offer of a hand from the captain, not trusting her trembling limbs.

"Welcome, Lady Longbottom, to the finest ship in English seas, the _Death Eater_."

The men surrounding them let out a cheer at this statement, all seemingly proud of the surprisingly well-kept ship. The captain flashed a fleeting proud smile before grasping Hermione's elbow and starting to tug her through the crowd. To her surprise, the crowd of sailors parted as peons before a king, each of them making certain not to touch her, not even to brush against her. She was puzzled by their unexpected courtesy until she overheard some of the murmurs rippling through the group.

"Bad luck, that one."

"Nothing good 'bout a woman on a ship."

"Captain's lost his mind, bringing a doxy about."

And then something far more alarming than any of the previous comments.

"Lucius, I need to speak with you when you have a moment."

Hermione stumbled slightly as she absorbed this new information and she was relieved when, a moment later, the captain tugged her through a door and into a dimly lit, stuffy stairwell. Before he could go any further, she pulled to a sudden halt, forcing him to either stop as well or release her. When he turned to face her with a questioning brow he was met by an expression that was equal parts fear and rage.

"You're him!" Hermione burst.

A flicker of amusement crossed the captain's face as he asked, "I am who, my lady?"

"Lucius the Fearsome! The pirate who has been terrorizing the English Coast!" She had also heard whispers among the barmaids naming him as Lucius the Luscious, but she neglected to inform him of that, no matter how true it might possibly be. He offered her a wide grin and a half-bow at her revelation.

"Ah, you've heard of me, too kind of you to notice, my lady."

"But, but you're English! How could you harm your own people?"

A haughty look masked his face as he replied, "I assure you, Lady Longbottom, the money of the English is just as useful as that of the Continentals. Now I suggest you leave off your inane observations and come with me or I shall simply leave you here."

Taken aback by his sudden brusqueness but unwilling to be discovered alone and only barely dressed by another member of the crew, Hermione hurried after the man as he set off, his wide shoulders nearly filling the space of the hallway. They soon reached another door, this one, Hermione was surprised to note, possessed a brass knob and lock, the first she had seen on the ship.

Producing a key from the deep pocket of the coat he wore despite the heat, he unlocked the door and gestured for her to enter. She hesitated for a moment before doing so and then turned around, bewildered when she realized he wasn't following her into the room. Instead, he stood propped against the doorframe, a derisive expression on his face.

"You, my dear little tart, are most certainly not a Longbottom. Feel free to think about it and then you can try to answer again. And I would suggest you not lie to me again."

With that, he pulled the door shut and the distinctive click of the lock echoed through the room.

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**A/N: I hope you enjoyed the beginning of our trope-y tale! There will be more to come soon. Don't forget to review! And don't forget to head over to The Maple Bookshelf to check out the other challenge entries and cast your vote for your favorite!**


	2. Sailing Ships and Sinking Surety

**A/N: I'm terribly, terribly sorry for the wait on this. But now we're here to rejoin our fearless heroine and a dashing pirate on their adventure! So much thanks to my awesome alpha TycheSong, who also happened to coin the name for this chapter. And now, without further ado, enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: As always, I'm just playing with J.K.'s characters, I make no profit from this work.**

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Hermione stared agape at the solidly shut door for a moment before she rushed to wiggle the heavy brass doorknob; an effort she knew was futile before she even tried. The sound of the lock had been undeniable and the door was impressively solid. Despite that, she rattled the door for several long moments in hopes that she might make an escape before resigning herself to spending quite some time in the room.

It would be hours before was missed at Gryffindor Hall, she hadn't even told her maid she was leaving before slipping away to the beach. And honestly, even if her absence was noticed, it's not as if anyone would know where to begin to search. She was well and truly stuck. That being decided and the logical side of her mind prevailing, she stepped back to survey the surroundings into which she had been thrust.

She had never been on a ship before, but none of the books she had read had ever hinted that this was what to be expected in a ship cabin. A large bed was pushed against one wall, the emerald green coverlet a bright burst of color in the dim room and a desk stood neatly on the other wall, not a paper out of place. There was even a stove in the corner and what looked to be a comfortably plush armchair nearby.

But what really caught Hermione's attention, distracting her entirely from the rest of the room, was the third wall. From one corner to the other, reaching from the floor nearly to the ceiling, were bookshelves, filled with rows and rows of books. Like a moth drawn to a flame, she drifted across the room to trail her fingers over the leather bindings, her eyes eagerly scanning the titles. It was an astounding collection of fiction, everything from Defoe to Goethe to authors she had never even heard of.

With a cry of delight, her hand landed on a copy of the same book she had been engaged in earlier in the day, Voltaire's _Candide_. She snatched it off the shelf without care for the whims of the owner and settled into the armchair, cracking open the tome and resuming where she had left off earlier.

**..&&&..**

"Are you out of your bleeding mind?"

Lucius sighed, taking a deep, calming breath of the sea wind whipping about him as the strident voice of his first mate broke through the relative quiet of the ship. He turned to see the dark man stomping across the deck toward him, a scowl twisting his hawkish features.

"It's been suggested," he replied, his tone deceptively mild. "But I'm afraid you're going to have to be more clear in regards to the source of my insanity." Not that there was any doubt in his mind as to why his entire crew was avoiding him as if he were spreading the clap, but the man's explanation was likely to be entertaining nonetheless.

"You know what I mean," the sallow man hissed. "If you're found out do you know what they'll do? She's a lady and her family**—" **

"Not to fear, Severus, she's almost certainly not who she claims to be." Lucius interrupted with a dismissive wave of his hand. "She won't be missed until it's far too late, I assure you. If no one misses her, she won't be able to point any fingers and we'll simply leave her where we next make port. If she happens to serve an additional purpose while on board, well then all the better."

These last words were spoken with a rakish gleam in the captain's grey eyes, drawing a disapproving look from his second in command.

"May I remind you, _Sir_, you also have legitimate responsibilities that _will_ draw questions if neglected too long? It would not do to dawdle for any…purpose the woman may serve."

It was all Lucius could do to keep from rolling his eyes at the dramatics of his friend, refraining only because it wouldn't do for the crew to see such an action from their captain. He had a reputation to maintain, after all.

Instead**,** he allowed his features to fall into an impenetrable mask, his voice cool as he inquired, "Surely you're not questioning my plans, Severus? After all these years? Do you honestly believe I would allow a plain little strumpet interfere with all of our hard work? Everything will come to fruition without a flaw, you'll see."

Before the other man could reply, Lucius spun on one booted heel and strode away, unwilling to allow the other man to see the flicker of doubt in his eye.

**..&&&..**

So involved in her book was she that Hermione never noticed when a key turned in the lock and the door swung open. It was not until a decanter clinked against a glass that Hermione even realized there was another person in the room serving as her prison. She looked up with a gasp, spotting the captain standing by the desk and snapped the book shut, hiding it between her leg and the side of the chair like a wayward child might with a stolen sweet. He offered a laconic smile as she jumped, gently swirling a finger of whiskey in a cut crystal glass.

"So nice to see you've made yourself at home, my dear," he drawled. Hermione stiffened, quickly placing her feet back on the floor, standing, and doing her best to smooth her appearance. He snorted at her efforts and took a slow sip of his drink before turning his back on her and shuffling about a set of papers on the desk.

Hermione stood silently, waiting for him to do or say something that would give her some idea of her fate. When minutes passed and the man remained occupied with his papers, she began to shift uncomfortably from foot to foot. The man continued to neglect her very presence in the room and finally she coughed lightly, the sound loud in the quiet cabin.

He looked up, mild surprise evident on his face as he asked, "I'm sorry, were you ready to explain exactly what a harlot such as yourself was doing exhibiting all her questionable charms to the world on the beach in broad daylight?"

Hermione's face reddened, she wasn't sure which part of his statement she found most offensive, but she was sure that none of it was complimentary in the least.

"I am not a harlot!" She burst.

He stood; splashing another draught of whiskey into the glass and his eyes drifted slowly down her body before flitting back to meet hers meaningfully. She flushed and fought to keep from averting her gaze, determined that she would not be cowed despite her current circumstances. The man sauntered slowly across the cabin, his attention never wavering from her, stopping only when the toes of his immaculate black boots were inches from her bare feet.

Her warm amber eyes locked unconsciously with his, her hands twisting nervously and silence falling in the room for several long moments before he finally spoke. "Have a drink, and stop that god-awful jittering. It's a terribly unattractive trait in a whore."

Hermione's entire being bristled and she placed a hand on his chest in an effort to push him away and rid herself of his towering presence and offensive words. Despite her best attempts however, he didn't even sway, the hard muscles of his chest immutable beneath her small hand. With a small huff of frustration at the wry grin gracing his expression, she dropped her hand and attempted to step back instead, only to encounter the chair blocking the way behind her.

Seeing no other option for escape, instead she pled, "Please, just allow me some clothing. I promise I'll be quiet."

He raised one haughty brow, his tone derisive as he reasoned, "Madam, you are on a ship populated entirely by men, in the middle of the sea. Are you so lacking in sense that you truly believe we have a dressmaker available for your whim?"

Hermione's cheeks reddened, a seemingly permanent stain in the pirate's presence, and gaped at the man, her mouth opening and closing several times as she fought for a reasonable argument. Finding none, she pursed her lips and sat down with a thud, staring mutinously up at the captain as she held her hand out, imperiously demanding the drink he had offered in her silence.

He smirked and pressed the glass into her outstretched hand without a word before turning and making his way back to the desk. Hermione stared after him, growing more and more bewildered by her current situation, a feeling she was neither accustomed to nor appreciative of.

The man sitting only feet away acted nothing like what she had been taught to expect from a pirate. Well, with the exception of holding her captive on a ship, of course. She would even dare to say the man was practically acting as a gentleman, although no gentleman would ever deprive a lady of clothes and provide her with such strong drink.

_He doesn't know you're a lady_, she reminded herself mentally. She was hesitant to inform him of her true identity though. He may continue to insist upon implying that she did unspeakable things for a living, but a nagging sense in the back of her mind warned that the only thing keeping her safe was his lack of absolute certainty of her identity.

The punishment for piracy alone, a crime of which he was certainly guilty, was public it were to be discovered that he had harmed a lady of peerage, that death would become painfully gruesome. Yes, it was definitely in her best interest if he didn't know her true role in life. Without the threat of a powerful family seeking revenge, there was very little doubt she would simply disappear into the sea, never to be seen again.

That matter settled in her mind, Hermione turned her thoughts to what could be done about her current circumstances. She hadn't noticed the captain relocking the door upon his entry, but it was unlikely she could make it past where he sat and through the door without being caught.

The desk and the chair in which she sat were nearly equidistant from the door and she would have the element of surprise, but her captor was overwhelmingly tall. His stride could cover at least two of hers; he would likely reach the door even before she could. And that was to say nothing of what would await her should she actually make it out the door. The captain at least knew to act the part of a gentleman, there was no chance she could expect the same of his crew. That ruffian Wormtail the captain had used as a threat was proof of that.

Realising she still held the glass of whiskey in her hand and suddenly desperate for a distraction from the morbid turn her thoughts had taken, she raised the rim to her lips and took a tentative sip. Immediately her nose wrinkled in distaste. Though she could tell the drink in her hand was of rather fine quality, she did not care for the taste nor for the burning sensation that accompanied it.

She much preferred the sweet port wine that was served after all of Lady Longbottom's meals, with no men in the house the dowager didn't even stock whiskey or the like. Regardless, the whiskey was the first offering of food or drink she had received in her hours on the ship, time that had taken her far past supper in her estimation and so she was loathe to refuse it.

She took another sip, this one only slightly easier as it burned a pathway down her throat. This time however, she was pleased to note, the fire seemed to settle in her belly with a warm glow that was actually rather comforting. She grew bolder as she grew warmer and after a quick peek from beneath her lashes to confirm the room's other occupant was still entirely ignoring her, she rescued Voltaire's work from where it had been stuffed and eagerly resumed consuming it, without realizing she was consuming the alcohol in the glass at nearly as rapid a rate.

It wasn't until Lucius finally moved again that Hermione began to realize the effects the liquor was having on her. The whiskey was almost certainly to blame for the inordinate amount of time it took her to begin to sputter her protest when the man walked nearer to the bed and shed his coat and waistcoat.

"What in goodness' name do you think you're doing?" She finally managed to blurt, only when his hands had gone to the hem of his white shirt.

He paused in his disrobing to look to where she sat in the chair**;** her feet tucked beneath her and her curls askew and asked, "Do they not undress before bed where you hail from, Madam?"

Hermione reddened before the true meaning of what he was saying dawned. "You certainly can't mean to sleep _here?_"

Both his brows flew up in genuine surprise before a mask of derisive mockery settled over his face. "This is my bedroom, madam**;** I certainly won't be sleeping elsewhere to coddle your delicate sensibilities. You will do well to remember that you are a prisoner, and are not the one to be giving orders on _my_ ship."

With that, he pulled the fine lawn shirt over his head, revealing what had only been teased when Hermione had tried to push him away earlier**:** a broad, finely muscled chest dusted with the barest coating of blond fur. Hermione's mouth dried. She had never seen a man's naked chest before, not even her father's**,** and could not make herself look away, despite how much she knew she should.

Her eyes traced over his broad shoulders, flicking curiously to his flat**,** tan nipples before lingering on the thick vee of muscles that disappeared tantalizingly beneath the waist of his breeches.

"Ogling? How very common of you, Miss…?"

"Granger," Hermione answered unconsciously, distracted by the mortification of being caught out staring. A triumphant smirk twisted the man's lips at her admission and she winced as she realized what she had done. Normally she was much more aware of her words and she loathed that she had been distracted enough by that thin trail of hair to allow such valuable information to slip by.

In a desperate effort to conceal her sudden discomfort, Hermione grabbed for her glass and swallowed the remaining contents in a single gulp, gasping as the amber liquid burned a path through her body. He chuckled at the expression that crossed her face before turning his back to her as he continued to speak his tone deceptively open and conversational.

"Granger," he mused aloud. "I don't believe I've heard that name in reference to the _Ton_."

Hermione's lip curled at that, her mien spitting as she snapped in reply, "Just because you've never managed to accost my family for their wealth doesn't mean we're lacking a title!" Hermione could see the man laughing silently, the muscles in his back rippling in a fascinating manner, but to accuse him of doing so would only alert him to the fact she was staring again and so she remained silent.

The quiet lingered for several long moments as the captain removed the tie from his hair, sending a cascade of smooth, silvery blond hair down over his shoulders. Hermione's lips parted in silent appreciation, she couldn't help it. The man's muscles were positively _bulging_ as he ran a comb through his mane. She couldn't be certain, but she was rather sure none of the young men in her acquaintance had ever looked like _that_.

Lucius was, for once, rather glad there was no mirror in his cabin for if there had been, the little hellcat would certainly have seen the smirk nearly permanently engraved upon his features and would no doubt come flying at him with claws out. A mirror wasn't really necessary though, he could _feel_ her stare burning into his back.

For someone who purported with such vehemence to be a well-bred lady, she was by far the boldest member off that species he had ever encountered. In short, she was absolutely fascinating.

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**A/N: I hope you enjoyed! The next chapter is very close to being done, so I promise you won't be stuck with another extensive wait. Don't forget to drop a review and let me know what you think of our continuing adventures!**


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